by Matt Turner
Lamech was waiting for him in the dark cave that the Master had stored his most valuable slaves. Most of them had already crept up into the Ninth Circle, but one still remained, so deep within the dark ice that the only visible part of him was the iron chain that emerged into the freezing air.
“The Old Man,” Lamech muttered. “The one responsible for everything.”
“Is it really him?” Lao asked, his anger temporarily forgotten. “Is it really the old fuck?”
Lamech did not reply. Instead, he gripped the iron chain with both hands and stared deep into the ice. Far below, the dim outline of something twitched. “Today we’re fishers of men,” Lamech sneered, and he jerked the chain with all his might.
The effect was instantaneous; the ice beneath them gave a mighty crack as it tore upward, bringing the loathsome creature up by the barbed iron collar wrapped around its neck. It let out a dull shriek that was quickly cut off when Lamech slammed his foot down onto its weak, heaving chest. “Hello, Grandfather,” Lamech snarled. “It’s been far too long. Whore, meet the father of humanity. Pathetic little thing, isn’t he?”
Lao stared at the dead-white thing that shivered and shuddered beneath Lamech’s boot. Its skin was nearly translucent, exposing its lines of frozen arteries and atrophied muscles, but enough remained of its ancient, emaciated frame to reveal that it was male. “F-forgive me,” it begged in a tiny whisper of a voice. “The snake…the Apple…my fault…”
So it really was him, Lao realized in shock. The first man to ever draw breath, the father of Cain, the author of the Fall. Adam, he who was made from dust, lay weeping on the floor of Judecca before him.
Lamech casually pressed his boot on Adam’s face, breaking his nose and causing a few droplets of frozen blood to leak onto the floor. “You’re right,” he agreed. “This is all your fault, Old Man.”
He bent down, wrenched Adam up by his throat, and tossed the ancient man to Lao. Lao easily caught him; Adam barely weighed as much as a child. “You carry him,” Lamech ordered.
“I’ll be good,” Adam whispered in Lao’s ear as they made their way back to the rift. His breath was cold and foul, like the breath of a half-frozen beast. “Please, I can make this right. I’ll be good…”
“Shut up,” Lao growled. What the fuck does the Master want with this weak, simpering old fool?
“Please…” Adam begged. His weak voice died away when Lamech reached out and wrenched one of his frozen fingers out of place.
“You’re in a new world, whore,” Lamech warned Lao. “Words and smiles don’t mean a damned thing under the Master. Only one thing matters now.”
“And what would that be?” Lao sneered.
“We serve the man who invented murder.” Lamech chuckled. “I’m sure you can figure it out yourself.” With that, he leapt up to the Ninth Circle, leaving Lao to struggle with climbing up the icy rift while simultaneously holding on to Adam’s feeble corpse.
By the time Lao finally emerged from the rift, sweating and panting despite the freezing air, Lamech and Eve were already waiting for him. “Bastard,” he spat at Lamech as he dumped Adam onto the ground. “Make me carry everything, why don’t you?”
“Enough,” Eve interrupted before Lamech could say anything. Her withered face gleamed in excitement as she hobbled to where Adam lay on the ice. “Is it really him?”
“In the flesh.” Lamech spat up a gob of phlegm onto Adam’s face.
Adam made no move to avoid it; instead, he stared up at the sky as the spittle ran down his translucent forehead. “Eve?” he softly whispered. “Is that you?”
Eve crouched beside her husband. Her face was so worn by time and pain that Lao found it impossible to read her wrinkled expression. What was she thinking? Was it hate that made her reach out to touch the Old Man’s face, or love?
“Yes,” she croaked. “It’s me.”
“What…” Adam had to take in a deep, rattling breath to continue. “What have we become?” he weakly asked.
For just a moment, Eve’s hard eyes softened.
Lao stared at her in complete surprise—was that a drop of liquid he saw starting to trickle down her sunken face? It can’t be, he thought in amazement. Was Eve actually—
“Old Man,” Cain said. Lamech and Lao instinctively dove to the ground, pressing their faces against the ice. “It’s been a long time.”
“Son,” Adam whispered. “Son, I…”
“Not anymore,” Cain snarled. “I am the Master, Old Man, and you would do well to remember it.” Adam let out a weak cry of pain as Cain’s boot crashed down onto his back.
“Please,” Adam begged. “Just let me die, please…”
“Never,” Cain spat. Out of the corner of his eye, Lao could see Adam’s bones cracking beneath his frozen, translucent skin. Eve silently watched on, her face shrouded in darkness. “No one dies in Hell, Old Man. Not until I’m finished with them.”
“My fault…” the First Man inaudibly sobbed.
“Cry again and I’ll have Mother break your spine,” Cain snapped. “You two, rise.”
Lao and Lamech silently stood to gaze upon their Master. Cain was still shirtless and drenched in the blood of the Thirteenth Legion, yet Lao felt the familiar surge of love and adoration rise in his chest at the raw power that radiated from every pore of the Master’s body. He was more than man, more than demon… No other word could describe his presence; Cain was simply more.
He could conquer the cosmos, Lao thought in awe.
Cain’s golden eyes pierced both of their souls; neither of them had the strength of will to make direct eye contact. “Three of the Traitor’s Seals on me have been broken,” the Master explained. “But one remains.” He motioned to his flank, where a few steel links emerged from his skin to loosely hang in the air.
“It limits my power.” Cain’s face darkened in fury. “Fetch me one of the Horsemen, so that I may finally break this curse. Do this, and I will make you my right hand over all Creation.”
Lamech bowed deeply. “Your will be done, Grandfather,” he smoothly said.
Cain nodded toward Adam’s half-frozen body. “Take that one with you. He possesses a fragment of my power and may be useful.”
“Him?” Eve asked. “Master, let me go in Adam’s place. I am more useful. He is just a—”
“No,” Cain stated. He put no particular emphasis on the word, yet they all slightly shrunk away from him, nonetheless. “You will stay at my side for now, Mother. Besides…” His cruel mouth twisted in a smile as he nodded at Lamech, then Lao, then Adam. “Son, Spirit, and Father… I think it’s time that I had a Trinity of my own.”
“Long live God,” Eve whispered.
“Master,” Lao dared to speak up, “is there any Horseman in particular you want us to bring?”
Cain chuckled. “Whichever one fights the most. I like it when they struggle.” He turned and motioned for Eve to follow him. “Come, Mother. The road to conquest is long and dark; it is time we truly begin.”
“Eve…my wife…” Adam whispered.
Eve stopped in her tracks for a moment. When she turned back to stare at her husband, her eyes were cold and full of hate. “You are naked, Old Man,” she spat in disgust. “Cover yourself.”
“Heh.” Lamech laughed. “Let’s go.” He extended his hand and pointed it at the ice below. Just as he had transported Legion to Hell, a dark rift opened up in the ground. He kicked Adam into the portal, then turned to give Lao one last condescending smirk. “Do you think you’re ready to go toe-to-toe with the Horsemen, whore?”
“Call me that again and you’ll have a lot more to worry about than the Horsemen,” Lao said coldly.
“We’ll see about that.” Lamech grinned. “Let’s get going, whore.” He leapt into the darkness of the portal, leaving Lao to shiver in the freezing cold of the Ninth Circle.
Bastard, Lao thought darkly. But the Master had given him a mission; he was not going to fail his god. He leapt into the darkness of
the rift, ready for the hunt.
6
Vera let go of the mush that had been ELIE’s head with a cry of disgust. “Holy shit, that thing is fucked up,” she groaned as ELIE’s brains spattered across the rubble. “I need a drink. Christ.”
“The First Blockade,” Manto pressed. “Did you find it?”
Vera reached out and wiped her bloodied hands off on Seth’s chest. “I think so.” She grimaced. “Hard to say, but I’ve got an idea.”
“Then we’ll bring the bitch with us,” Simon decided. With a few quick slashes of his sword, he tore off ELIE’s limbs and slung the headless Prophet’s torso over his back. Her regenerative abilities were astounding; he could already feel the hair on her re-forming scalp growing out to its original length. Just to be sure that she wouldn’t try anything, he reached up with his free hand and crushed her skull back to dust.
“Must you do that?” Seth demanded from where Amaury was busy healing his bleeding calf.
“You’re right, we should probably just forgive her,” Amaury said in a voice that dripped with sarcasm. “Our Hell, our rules, choirboy.”
“I’m not a—” Seth started to say, but he quickly bit down on the words. “Forget it,” he muttered as he got up on his feet. “Lead the way, Vera.”
“John better be around,” Simon said as Vera led the small group through the remnants of the annihilated city. The rubble was strewn so thickly that it was impossible to tell where the street ended and buildings began. “If Legion got him—”
“John’s tougher than he looks,” Vera said over her shoulder. “He’s fine. We’ll find him.”
Simon was not so sure about the priest’s ability to survive, but he said no more on the matter. Instead, he let himself shift toward the back of the rough line that they formed through the rubble, allowing himself to walk alongside Seth. “So what’s it like?” he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.
Seth grimaced with every step; it seemed that Amaury had not been entirely successful in healing the wound inflicted on his calf. “What’s what like?” he asked.
“You know.” A flush came over Simon’s cheeks. “Er—Heaven.”
“Ah.” Seth nodded. For a moment, the two of them continued to walk in silence. At last, the heavenly ambassador gently spoke. “Why do you want to know, Simon de Montfort? You and I both know that you will never see it. Anything I tell you about Paradise will only add to your pain.”
“Then tell me one thing,” Simon said. It took all his willpower to keep his voice from being infected with the weak, pleading tone that he had always hated to hear in others. “My soldiers…the other crusaders…how many of them made it to Paradise in the end?” Did we achieve God’s will? Or was it all for nothing?
“Do not ask questions you do not want answered, Butcher,” Seth gently said. “Ignorance is the only salve for the soul that exists in this place.”
“None!” a voice cackled in triumph. Podarge swooped through the air above them, grinning down with her hateful harpy-face. “None!” she sang as she landed on ELIE’s motionless back. “None, none, none!”
“Begone, devil,” Seth spat. “Your existence is a blight on Creation!” Podarge mockingly cawed laughter in his face as she flapped her wings several times and shot back up into the sky. “I do not trust that thing,” Seth muttered as her caws faded away. “Something about it…”
Well, it is a demon, Simon thought. But in spite of everything, his heart sank. And I thought there was no more room for disappointment.
“Seth,” Simon finally said. “Why do you care what we do?”
“Hmm?” Seth glanced back at Simon. “What do you mean?”
“We are damned,” Simon mumbled, half-embarrassed by his words. “Yet you criticize us for our actions.” To illustrate his point, he threw ELIE’s nearly completely healed body back on the ground and once again cut off her limbs. Just as he had expected, Seth wrinkled his nose in disgust. “It’s too late for us. So why do you care what we do?”
Seth frowned in thought. “A good deed is its own reward,” he said at last. “Even if it is something as simple as not torturing your enemies.”
Simon picked ELIE’s bleeding torso back up and slung it over his shoulder. “You’re a strange one.”
“So I’ve been told.” Seth sighed.
“Wait,” Manto burst out. “Nobody move!”
The tiny column that they had formed ground to a halt as the sorceress closed her eyes in concentration.
“You mentioned that that one was just a head a few hours ago?” Seth asked Simon in a low voice.
“I don’t fucking know, something like that.” Simon shrugged. “I lost track after the giant spider tried to eat us.”
Amaury whipped out two machine-pistols that he had scavenged. “How many?” he asked Manto.
“Only three,” Manto said, her eyes still closed in concentration. “Ahead of us, coming close… They know we’re here.”
Seth immediately leapt into action. “De Montfort, you’re in front with me,” he said as he pushed his way through the others to the front of the column. “Amaury, Manto, stay behind us—flank them while we hold the enemy back. Vera, stay behind them.” There was a small crest of Legion’s rotting flesh in the valley of rubble ahead of them; Seth quickly made his way up the hill of meat with Simon in hot pursuit.
He knows his business, Simon noted. He’s trying to gain the high ground before the enemy.
“You’re putting me in the back? Seriously?” Vera complained. “I can fight—”
Simon tossed ELIE’s torso so that it landed at Vera’s feet. Podarge eagerly swooped down and began to peck at the Prophet’s healing stumps. “Watch the demon,” Seth ordered over his shoulder. “I don’t trust it. Manto, how far?”
Manto pointed at the crest of the flesh-tendril above them. “They’re already here,” she flatly said.
Simon and Seth turned as one to see several figures outlined against the pillars of smoke in the distance. There were three males: one whose twisted body jutted forward like a hunchback, one who let out a sigh of disgust as his boots sank into the rotting flesh of Legion’s body, and one who gazed down at them with a hungry, excited look.
“Be strong!” the man in the center called down to them. He raised one of his hands upward and laughed as a blade of flame appeared from it. The flames cast an eerie glow over his face, exposing his jet-black hair and sunken, golden eyes.
“My sword,” Seth muttered in recognition. “How did he—”
“Do not fear.” The newcomer grinned. “Your God is coming with vengeance and divine retribution. We’re just the welcoming committee.”
“Holy shit,” Amaury said. “Is that—”
“Lamech?” Manto called up at the dark-haired man. “Is that you?”
“Manto.” The stranger nodded. “I see you’ve gotten a body as well. Not a bad one either.”
“Lamech?” Seth stiffened. “No—that’s impossible…” His voice trailed off as he intently stared up at the young man.
For the first time, Simon noticed the vague resemblance between the two of them.
“Enough talking,” the man next to him complained. His voice sounded familiar; to his surprise, Simon recognized the concubine he had once met with Fritz and Longinus. What was his name? Lao something? “Let’s just finish this.”
“What the fuck, Lamech?” Amaury shouted. “I carried your head in a bag for years—the fuck is your problem?”
“I have been rewarded by my Grandfather,” Lamech grandly announced, flourishing Seth’s heavenly blade for extra emphasis. “Well, Great-great-great-grandfather, to be strictly accurate.” He gave a tiny shrug. “And that is why I am here. Come and serve Him, and your reward will be greater than you can possibly imagine. Seat yourselves beneath the Almighty Cain, and join in the brave new world He will create!”
“Hell isn’t the only realm that the Master will rule,” Lao casually added. “There are endless opportunities for those w
ho will serve.”
“They’re lying,” Seth immediately said. “There is nothing but even more death and misery for those who follow my brother.”
But the others did not seem to be so sure. Vera stared straight forward, a perfectly neutral expression on her face, and Amaury and Manto exchanged a single quiet glance. Even Podarge, still flapping above their heads, seemed to be infected with a sense of disquiet. For a moment, there was an uncomfortable silence broken only by ELIE’s faint groans as its limbs quickly grew outward.
“The Master gave you all your powers out of the loving-kindness of His heart,” Lamech said, his deep voice now infected by a hint of a threatening tone. “It is time that you repay Him.”
I could return home, Simon thought. I could escape… All it would take would be walking over to the other side. He eyed Amaury out of the corner of his eye, trying to see what his son was thinking. I’ll follow him, he decided. But Amaury seemed to be just as torn. He reached up to scratch his head in thought, shifting his ragged robes just enough for Simon to see the layer of scarred skin that covered his chest.
The Master did that, Simon realized as he again saw the marks of centuries of torture on his son’s body. He did it. Quite suddenly, the agonizing choice became incredibly easy.
“Well?” Lamech demanded. “Spit it out! It makes no difference to me, mind you—the only one of you I give a shit about is the heaven-man, and I already know his answer.” He pointed the heavenly blade down at Seth and grinned. “Isn’t that right, Grand-Uncle?”
Seth did not reply, but his gaze grew fiercer as a shadow fell across his face.
Simon started to open his mouth to tell the three strange newcomers to go fuck themselves, but then stopped as, beside him, Manto ever-so-slightly shifted one of her feet forward. Is she about to join them? he thought in a cold fury. He began to reach for the massive blade slung across his back, ready to slash her in half. That bitch.